


To Sir, With Love

by xtexan86



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtexan86/pseuds/xtexan86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their first Christmas after Gunther's hit but Hutch is troubled by an incident from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sir, With Love

 

Balancing a large package in one arm, and a full grocery bag on the other, Starsky carefully maneuvered a key into the lock on his front door.  The tune of “Jingle Bells” was still running through his mind, one of many Christmas songs he’d heard playing on Bay City’s local radio station, KYSS.  He and Hutch often joked about the call letters.  The unique label was what had stirred their interest in the station and now it was one of their favorites.

When the front door swung open without a click, however, Starsky’s instincts immediately switched from caroling to high alert.  It was still early in the afternoon, too early for Hutch to be home from work.  Plus, his partner’s latest car, a two-door green Ford Fairmont, was nowhere around.  Letting the parcel he was holding drop quietly onto the linoleum floor, Starsky set the grocery bag down on top and began a quick scan of what he could see of the living room.

The Christmas tree was standing by the TV set, its multi-colored lights all on and blinking.  That was strange; Starsky thought they had been turned off last night, right before he and Hutch had gone to bed.  Warily, he took a few steps forward, keeping his eyes peeled for anything else unusual.  As he got closer to the couch, Starsky peeked over the back.  Propped over one of the arm cushions was a pair of socked feet poking out from under a shawl.

“Hutch?”

The feet moved and the top of a blond head appeared above the backrest.

“Hey, Starsk.”

Starsky walked around to the front.  There was his awakening lover, sacked out comfortably under the old blue and white shawl his mother had knitted years ago.

“What are you doing home so early?” Starsky asked.  “And where’s your car?  It’s not in the driveway.”

“At the mechanic’s,” Hutch said glumly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Again?  That’s the third time this month!”

“Tell me about it.”  Starsky watched appreciably as Hutch raked a hand through his hair, straightening a few errant strands.  “Believe me, that’s the last time I’m ever buying _anything_ from Merle.”

“So what are you doing home?”  Starsky patted his buddy’s side, motioning him to slide over.  Mechanical problems weren’t normally an excuse to ditch work, even for a man who insisted on picking stray cars up off the street and nursing them back to health.  “Is everything okay?” he asked, settling down into the narrow slice of vacant couch.

Hutch looked exhausted.  Holidays normally forced Bay City’s finest to put in long shifts and last night had been no exception.  Hutch hadn’t gotten home until nearly midnight.

Starsky was sympathetic to his best friend's plight, but being a cop was something he didn’t have to deal with anymore.  Ever since recovering from Gunther’s hit, he’d had a change of heart about staying in law enforcement.  When the department offered him a disability retirement, he immediately accepted; relieved that his days of dodging fists and bullets had finally ended.

Of course, the drawback to his decision was leaving Hutch alone at the department.  Actually, it wasn’t as if Starsky had abandoned his buddy to fend for himself.  Hutch wanted to stay on, electing to study for the lieutenant’s exam, which he’d passed a few months ago with flying colors.  The problem was word had leaked throughout the precinct about his and Starsky’s relationship—their personal, and _very_ sexual, relationship.  Unable, and unwilling, to deny the rumors, both had had little choice but to confirm everyone’s suspicions.  The announcement had gone over about as well as chicken pox.

Why they weren’t tied and burned at the stake was anyone’s guess, but Starsky assumed a big part of it was due to their far more extensive, albeit _cleaner_ , professional reputations.  That, coupled with his status as a fallen hero, seemed to quash protests from the department’s top echelons who wanted heads to roll.

Still, it was obvious someone wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be another scandal involving a high-ranking homosexual like John Blaine.  Despite a short list of candidates, and three openings since Hutch aced the exam, no department head had selected him yet.  After each failed attempt, he’d come home, thoroughly dejected, to tell Starsky the bad news.  It would take a long night of talking, soft caressing and out of this world sex to get him over the disappointment and ready to apply again.

But, as far as Starsky knew, there had been no recent announcements for any openings.  So why was Hutch sacked out on their couch at three in the afternoon?

“Hey,” Starsky said, poking Hutch’s shoulder.  “Did you hear me?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.  “Just decided to take some personal time.”

Starsky’s attitude immediately changed as a long list of exciting, and mutual, possibilities sprung to mind.  “Yeah?  What kinda time are we talking about?  A few days?  _A week_?”

That, at least, brought a smile to Hutch’s face.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Starsky perked up even more.  “Are you kiddin’?” he said, jutting his chin out proudly.  “Having you all to myself for a whole day?  I don’t think either one of us would survive until dinner.”

“Is that all you ever think about?  Sex?”

“No.”  Starsky ran a finger up Hutch’s arm and didn’t stop until he reached the soft lobe of his lover’s ear.  Playing with the blond strands of hair around its curvature, he added, “I think about all the ways you can fuck me straight into next week.”

“Starsk, I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing,” Hutch said, his supple lips stretching into an even bigger smile.

“I don’t think so…partner.”  Starsky leaned forward and kissed that lovely mouth.  Traveling higher, he moved his tongue over the muscular brow, tasting the slightly salty flesh, and then lapped at both of Hutch’s cheeks.  His exploits elicited a grateful murmur from his partner.  Still not finished, Starsky dipped lower, underneath the jaw, and tickled along the Adam’s apple.  That made Hutch squirm.  Starsky slid a hand between the shawl and Hutch’s chest.  Finding a nipple he made it harden through the thin cotton that separated flesh on flesh.  He kept toying with the delicate nub until he heard louder moans of pleasure rising from his mate.    “Now that, my dear boy,” Starsky murmured, “is called _foreplay_ —”

“You don’t say,” Hutch whispered breathlessly.

Starsky grinned big.  “And this,” he added, thrusting his hand deeper under the shawl and grabbing the bulge in Hutch’s groin, “is called _sex_!” 

Taking advantage of surprise, Starsky lunged at his hapless victim and quickly captured Hutch’s mouth.  Using his tongue, Starsky thrust into the moist cavity and greedily probed around.  While their tongues jousted playfully, Starsky snaked a second hand underneath the shawl to join the one holding his lover’s dick captive.  Working by feel, he quickly unzipped the cumbersome jeans blocking his way.  With more room to maneuver, he continued his intimate quest beneath the cotton briefs.  Finding the hidden prize, Starsky circled his fingers around the semi-hard cock and began stroking it to life.

“Oh God,” Hutch groaned, breaking his mouth free from Starsky’s.

“You like that, don’t cha lover boy?”

Hutch bucked his pelvis in response.  “Please, Starsky, not now…oh, fuck…harder!”

In a sultry voice, Starsky said, “Yeah, that what you want?”

Feeling in control, Starsky didn’t wait for an answer and began to milk his prey a little faster.  The smooth skin sliding back and forth felt so good under his palm, not to mention the power at turning that beautiful cock into a solid rod.  Unforgettable memories flashed through Starsky’s mind, at having the moist tip surrounded by his fingertips deep inside of him, stroking mercilessly at his prostrate.  He wanted to reach down and grab his own dick, but this gift was for Hutch; his turn at ecstasy that Starsky was only too happy to bestow.  With no intentions of quitting prematurely, Starsky pumped the rigid penis even harder.

Hutch opened his mouth, forming a small circle.  Breaths of air, like rhythmic panting, rushed in and out.  Excited at his lover’s response, Starsky intensified his actions.  The heavenly look on Hutch’s face and frenzied leg kicks signaled he was perilously close to the edge.  Using his free hand, Starsky began to delicately toy with each fuzzy testicle, fondling the plump but firm scrotum covered in soft, downy hair.

Suddenly, the round sacks receded upwards and Hutch gasped.  His eyes slammed shut and his head fell back.  Starsky stared at Hutch’s face, never tired of seeing the expressions there morph and fade as they made love.

A moment later, Hutch's blue eyes sprang open and his chest ballooned as he drew in a deep breath.  He arched his back forcefully while long, quivering legs shook the whole couch.  Hutch cried out his bliss, sending muscle spasms through the velvety flesh in Starsky’s hand.  As a stream of warm, thick liquid seeped over his fingers, Starsky felt utter satisfaction.  The joy he got from sending his soul mate into sexual oblivion was nothing short of experiencing the same indescribable sensation himself. 

“Boy, that was a load,” he said, wiping the semen off his hand onto Hutch’s stomach.  “Maybe we need to start fucking every night, or you’re gonna burst one day.”

Uncharacteristically, Hutch suddenly scowled at him and flung off the shawl.  “Great, now I’ve got to go take a shower,” he grumbled, ruining Starsky’s festive mood.  “You know, if you’re going to attack me like that, the least you could do is give me some warning!”

“ _Attack_ you?”

“You heard me, and _you know_ what I meant!”

Surprised at Hutch’s vicious tone, Starsky struggled to hide his hurt.  His efforts abruptly ended, though, as anger quickly replaced shock.  “Sure, pal, next time I’ll wait for a signed invitation,” he hissed.

“Starsk, I didn’t mean it like that!”

Hutch’s plea fell on deaf ears.  Starsky jumped to his feet and headed over to the items he’d left by the front door.

Getting up off the coach, Hutch followed right on his tail.  “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, zipping up his jeans.  “It’s been a bad day.”

“So you figure you’d screw mine up and that’d make it all better?”

Starsky grabbed the grocery bag and stormed past his ingrate lover into the kitchen.  If Hutch was smart, he’d take Starsky’s pissed off attitude as a signal they were done talking.  Needing a few seconds to calm down, Starsky set the bag on the sink counter and rinsed off his hands.  Sometimes he wished that mean streak in Hutch would let up, or at least not show its ugly head when the two of them were having a special moment. 

Hutch’s callousness wasn’t the only reason Starsky was upset.  Gunther’s field day had forced him to shuffle a few priorities around in his life.  Hostility wasn’t something he got off on anymore.  Time was too short for that.  His new ambition focused on not letting his temper get the best of him; trying to be more patient and understanding.  Unfortunately, this new philosophy didn’t always prevent his emotions from haphazardly exploding.

“My mom called the other day,” Hutch said, breaking the short interlude.

Inwardly, Starsky’s anger flared.   Right now, conversing, especially about mundane topics, was the last thing he wanted to do.  He ignored Hutch and dug a few items out of the grocery bag, hoping the dumb blitz would catch a clue.  But that little admittance coming from someone who hardly ever spoke about family tugged at his curiosity.

“Yeah, ‘that so?” Starsky said, putting away part of his anger.

“She said she’d gone through all her photo albums and wanted to send me some pictures.”

A thick manila packet had arrived in their mailbox a few days ago.  Not giving the article much thought, Starsky had set it aside for Hutch to open later.

“Kinda of a _nice_ thing for her to do,” Starsky remarked, hoping Hutch caught the verbal connotation.  He brushed past him and opened the refrigerator door.  “Was that her letter you got the other day?”

“Uh-huh,” Hutch said, coming closer.  He watched Starsky arrange some items on the glass shelves.  “There were a few pictures of my dad,” he added softly.

Starsky glanced at him and shut the door.  “I thought you said you were done feeling guilty over that.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Innocence shot out of Hutch’s baby blues, but Starsky wasn’t fooled.  Displaying his “I-know-you-better” smirk, he took several boxes of macaroni and cheese out of the grocery bag and opened the pantry cabinet.  “The man all but disowns you after telling him not to expect any grandkids and now that he’s dead, you’re having second thoughts about not being the perfect son?”

“Well, unlike you, Starsk, I guess I’m still an amateur at being fatherless.”

Their uneasy truce immediately ended as the terse words hit hard.  Starsky turned and stared at the man he thought was his best friend.  The look on Hutch’s face signaled instant regret, but the damage was done.  Starsky tossed the macaroni into the cabinet and flung the door closed.  _So much for a new outlook on life_ , he thought.

“Starsk, hey, I didn’t mean it,” Hutch pleaded. 

He tried to reach for Starsky’s arm, but the weak attempt at apologizing fell flat.  Forgetting about the rest of the groceries, Starsky stomped into the living room, the front door his ultimate goal.  He quickly scanned the top of the coffee table, then remembered his car keys were still in his pants pocket.

“Where are you going?” Hutch asked in an irritated tone.  “Don’t walk out on me.  Let’s talk!”

“Talk?  You can talk all you want to, Hutch,” hollered Starsky, waving at all four walls.  “Just don’t be surprised if nobody wants to listen!”

With that, he went out the front door, slamming it behind him.  Once outside, Starsky headed to his car, but stopped short of getting in.  He was mad, that was for sure, and he had a right to be.  Yet, jumping into the Torino and taking off to God-knows-where didn’t feel like the best thing for a grown man to do; even a pissed-off one.

Needing a place to think, Starsky sat down on the front bumper.  He leaned forward and cradled his pounding head into the palms of his hands.  A little voice was telling him to give the blond idiot a break.  There was obviously something rubbing Hutch the wrong way and for whatever reason, he was keeping it to himself.  Starsky frowned.  He’d done the same thing numerous times and, in the process, probably upset Hutch just as much.  But that didn’t mean either man stopped caring for the other—even if words and actions sometimes meant otherwise.  Starsky heaved out a heavy sigh and lifted his head.  He took a long look at the house and thought about the lone occupant waiting inside.  Gathering his emotions, he stood up and plodded back up the paved walkway.

Opening the front door, Starsky stepped inside.  The living room was vacant and so was the kitchen, as far as he could tell.  “Hutch?  Hey, Hutch!”

“I’m here.”

Starsky closed the door and followed the sound of Hutch’s voice.  He found his partner sitting on the bed in their bedroom.  Beside him was an opened envelope and Hutch was holding what looked like a small stack of old photos.

“Sorry about what I said,” he offered.

Starsky nodded.  “So I take it you want to talk?”

Hutch shrugged a shoulder.  “Guess so,” he said and glanced at the pictures in his hands.

Deciding it was okay to enter, Starsky sat down on the bed and studied the top photograph in Hutch's lap.  The slightly faded black and white showed a well-dressed man, probably in his late thirties, standing in the front yard of a large, two-story house.  A small blond-haired boy of about three years old was by his side, bending over to look at something on the ground.  The stern expression on the man’s face caught Starsky's attention.  It was if he was annoyed at having his picture taken.

“That you?” Starsky asked, pointing to the kid.

“Yeah,” Hutch said smiling.  “I remember that day.  It was Easter Sunday.  Mother had colored some eggs and hidden them out in the yard for me to find.  I think that was the first year I got a chocolate bunny, too.”  He pointed at the building in the background.  “That was the house I grew up in.  And see that window?  I accidently broke it one summer playing baseball.”

Starsky listened quietly, surprised at all the things Hutch had to say about the photo; everything except the person standing next to him.  In all the years they’d known each other, Starsky had never seen a good picture of either of Hutch’s parents.  The few Hutch had were like the one he held.  Small, obscure faces, hidden by either shadows or a hat pulled down too low.  Hutch never offered an explanation; never had to as far as Starsky was concerned.  But his buddy’s life before they first met was always something of a mystery.

Sensing an opportunity for an answer or two, Starsky gathered a little courage. “I take it that’s your dad?” he asked cautiously.

Hutch’s smile diminished.  “Yeah, that’s Richard Farnsworth Hutchinson…in the flesh.”

“ _Farnsworth_?  That’s a mouthful.”  Starsky tried hard not to laugh.  If Hutch had ended up with a name like that, who knew what stupid nicknames a close pal could come up with?  “Was he named after some great, great uncle?”

“Some obscenely rich great, great uncle; I think.  Might have even been a cousin.  I guess I never asked him.”

Hutch sighed and swapped the photo he was holding for the next one underneath.  This picture showed an older Hutch, probably around ten or eleven, sitting at a table.  The photo was in color and showed little Kenny wearing a cone-shaped birthday hat.  There were about six other children circled around him, all of them wearing the same hats and posed behind a big chocolate-frosted cake.

“My birthday party,” Hutch explained unnecessarily.  He pointed to a young boy wearing a bright green shirt standing next to him.  “See this kid?  He’s an astronaut for NASA.  I’m pretty sure he was on one of the missions to Skylab.”

“Must not have been a very good mechanic.”  Starsky’s comment drew a strange look from Hutch.  “Well, that hunk of space junk fell down only a few months ago.”

Hutch rolled his eyes.  “You swore you were going to find a piece and turn it for the $10,000 reward.”

Sulking, Starsky said, “Yeah, I would’ve…wasn’t my fault the damned thing crashed way over in Australia.”

Hutch went to the next photo.  Starsky nearly gasped.  This one, taken close up, showed a teenaged Hutch standing side by side with good ol' Farnsworth himself.  The man still wasn’t smiling; in fact he looked even more perturbed than he did in the first photo.  But the resemblance between father and son was amazing.  Both had straight blond hair, a smooth jaw line and light blue eyes.  Starsky could easily see where “Handsome Hutch” got his nickname.

Obviously less interested in this photo, his partner groaned in frustration and slipped the picture to the bottom of the pile.

“Hey, wait a second!” Starsky yelped.  He grabbed Hutch’s hand and pulled it back.

“Starsky!”

“No, c’mon Hutch!  I want to look at your dad.”

Reluctantly, Hutch let go.  Starsky held the photo up and studied it closely.  Both men were dressed in nice suits, the kind someone would wear to a fancy party or ball.  Starsky peered at the older adult, examining the pair of eyes staring hotly at the photographer.  For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Farnsworth appeared so disgusted; as if he was posing beside a mass murderer rather than his own son.  Switching his attention to the younger Hutchinson, Starsky sighed in contentment.  Hutch’s boyish looks practically breathed radiance and beauty.

“You done, yet?” Hutch moaned.

Starsky started to hand the photo back, but changed his mind.  There was something in the look on Hutch’s face; something that told him there was more to that shot than just a father and son posing for a photograph.

“When was this taken?” he asked.

“My senior year of high school.  Mother threw me a big graduation party at my cousin’s house.”

“That’s some threads to be wearin’ for a graduation party.”

“We had reservations for dinner later that evening.”

Hutch’s voice sounded flat, even a little bit sad. 

“Yeah?  Where did you go?” Starsky pried, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“We were supposed to eat at some ritzy place downtown.  I think it was called ‘Primo’s.’”

“Sounds like someone made other plans.”

A tiny frown appeared on Hutch’s face.  “Guess you could say my father was responsible for that.”

“Your dad?  Really?  Why would he do that?”

Hutch let out a loud sigh, making his whole body deflate.  He looked uncomfortable; even a bit upset.  It was hard for Starsky to tell whether he wanted to keep talking or not.

“Hey,” nudged Starsky with an elbow. “Level with me.  What happened between you two?”

He braced for an answer.  Bad blood had always surrounded Hutch’s relationship with his father, but since he never spoke much about his early life, there was no telling what kind of circumstances led to the immense emotional gap between the two men.

“Let’s just say…I wasn’t the kind of son a father would be proud of.”

“Are you serious?  Where in the world did you come up with that lamebrain excuse?”

“Starsky…” 

Hutch slowly shook his head and withdrew from the conversation.  Feeling his anxiety rising, Starsky sat back a little.  _This wasn’t going to be easy_ , he thought.  Maybe father and son relationships grew more convoluted as each man got older.  Of course, he wouldn’t know about any of that.  Losing his father at thirteen had ended all hopes of ever experiencing an adult relationship with him.  In his mind, Starsky always pictured them being very close; talking shop about guy things, sharing special times together here and there.  Maybe that was part of the reason he and Hutch had such a unique bond.  Their friendship echoed the one Starsky wished he still had with his father; a guy who would love you no matter what the circumstances…

Quite unexpectedly, an epiphany struck.

“Hutch, when did your dad find out that you were…well, that you liked guys a whole lot more than girls?”

Hutch’s eyes flew wide open.  Starsky had hit a home run.

“W-When did he find out?”

“Yeah, I mean, you did tell him at some point, right?”

The look on Hutch’s face turned sour and he snatched the photo out of Starsky’s hands. “You’re so smart,” he grumbled, waving the picture at Starsky, “can’t you figure it out?”

“I’m _not_ a mind reader!”  Frustrated, Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hand.  “And you know what else I’m not?  I’m _not_ the enemy here.  Whatever it is that you’re not tellin’ me, Hutch, it’s tearing you up inside…and that hurts _me_.”  The fire in his partner’s eyes cooled.  Starsky softened his grip on Hutch’s hand, along with his tone.  “Buddy, I don’t know how to fix you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

The anger melted off of Hutch’s face, instantly changing the angry man to a sad little boy.  Unable to resist, Starsky leaned forward and warmly hugged the one person he loved more than anyone else.  He was relieved when Hutch reciprocated the show of affection.  No words were needed.  Starsky knew what was in Hutch’s heart as much as Hutch knew what was in his.

After a few moments, they separated.  Hutch settled his hands in his lap and stared at the photo again.

“Right before this picture was taken,” he recalled, “my father caught me and Paul Schueller in my cousin’s bedroom.”

Starsky took another glance at the photo.  “I take it you two were playin’ something other than a game of Tiddlywinks?”

Hutch snorted.  “You got that right.  I’m not sure how much he saw, but we were well on our way to third base before all hell broke loose.”

“Oh…”  Starsky locked eyes with Farnsworth’s.  “I guess that’s why you never made it to the restaurant.”

“That would be a good guess, pal.”

Sensing it was time to switch gears, Starsky snatched all the photos out of Hutch’s hands and set them on the night stand.  “I want to know what happened,” he pressed, “between you and your dad.  All of it.  And give it to me straight, okay?”

He patted Hutch’s cheek.  The look in his lover’s eyes begged for understanding, but Starsky didn’t care what secrets lurked behind them.  He loved the person he shared a life with now, not who Hutch was, or what he did, decades ago.

“Once we got back home, I was sent to my room,” Hutch began.  “I don’t think Mother had a clue why right then.  About an hour later, she came upstairs.  She brought me some food—tomato soup and a couple of rolls.”  He stopped and raised his eyes to stare at the bedroom door.  “Judging from her behavior, I figured she’d been told what happened.  I just remember this really sad, sad look in her eyes.  It was as if all the joy had been sucked out of her.”

Those last words stabbed Starsky like a knife.  His heart ached, as surely as his friend’s did.  He could picture a teenaged Hutch, banished to his bedroom for something that came as natural to him as breathing.  Only, instead of getting support from the two people he needed most, all he got was a bowl of soup.

Surprisingly, Starsky didn’t feel angry at Hutch’s parents.  Attitudes towards gays twenty years ago had to have been brutal.  At least Hutch appeared to have retained some semblance of a relationship with his mother.  Maybe she had come to accept her son’s inclination; maybe she couldn’t turn her back on him like his father had.

“Did you have a talk with your dad later on?” Starsky asked.

“I wouldn’t really call it a ‘talk,’” Hutch said, turning to face him.  “It was more like a condemnation.  He told me no son of his was going to be a cock sucker, and since beating the shit out of me was against the law, he’d settle for kicking me out of his life.”

Inwardly, Starsky grimaced.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of hate it took for a father to say that to his only son.

“That’s when he handed me a check for $20,000.  Said that was my inheritance and whether I wanted to spend it on college or blow it playing craps was my choice.”

“So you chose to go to school?”

“Yeah, that only lasted a few years.  Then came the incident with Luke Huntley and, well, you know the rest of the story.”   

Both men sat in silence for a few moments.  Starsky thought briefly about his own father, but for him, the past was the past.  It didn’t—shouldn’t—define a person’s self worth or who he was capable of becoming.  Yet, here was his best friend, so irrevocably linked to his past that Starsky wasn’t sure how to break even the weakest link of chain holding Hutch captive there.  His beautiful blond deserved to be free; free of guilt and his father’s judgment.  Gathering his thoughts, Starsky kept his fingers crossed and started talking.

“Look,” he began.  “I’m no expert on father and son relations, but I do know wanting your dad to be proud of you is one of those things all us boys strive for.  But if trying to please him only made you miserable, then what’s the point?”

“Starsky, it’s more than that,” Hutch said, sounding irritated. “He gave life to me, I’m…I’m a part of him!  Of all the people on this earth, you’d think he and I would have some kind of special connection…a bond that could at least transcend past a disagreement on what each of us thinks is important!”

“You think you gotta be related to someone in order to have that?”  Starsky leaned in closer.  “What would you call what you and me have, huh?  Sometimes I can’t even tell where I end and you begin.  And blood isn’t everything, you know.  I mean, I love Nicky but if it came down to either you or him, I…well, I think you know who’d come first.”

“I hear you.”  Hutch reached over and laid a hand on Starsky’s thigh.  “It’s just I can’t understand why nothing else I did counted for something.  I got straight A’s in school; I got a job when I was only fourteen years old.  I never was in trouble with the law; I always did whatever my father asked…”  Hutch paused and looked up at Starsky, staring at him with bright blue eyes that glistened with a teary sheen.  “Why—why couldn’t he _love_ me?”

“Because that’s _my_ job.”  Starsky pressed against Hutch, close enough so each could feel the other’s breath.  “I love you, Hutch.  I love your smile, I love the way you make me feel.  I love that little mole you have right here,” he said, sliding his hand down Hutch’s back to his right hip.  “But most of all, I love what’s in here.”  Starsky brought his hand around front and placed it on Hutch’s chest.  “Your dad may have given you life, but what’s in your heart, that comes from _you_ …no one else.”

The humbled look appearing on Hutch’s face made Starsky tingle all over.  He didn’t care if the guy had been born to two serial killers.  It was Farnsworth’s loss for not seeing past something so inconsequential as sexual orientation; for not appreciating all the special gifts his son possessed—gifts that brought joy to people of all types every single day of his life.  And no matter what miracle had caused that, Starsky was thrilled to be one of those people.

“I love you, too, Starsk,” Hutch said, kissing him on the lips. “Thanks, buddy.”

Starsky smiled.  “Anytime, lover.”  He glanced down at the small stack of photos on the night stand.  “Now, how ‘bout showing me the rest of those?  And no fair hiding any naked baby pictures!”

 

The End

  


End file.
